MARCH, APRIL VOGON

FRIENDS!!

I’m a little behind on these Vogon poems, sorry. I know you’ve been waiting patiently & I’m all cranky from being awakened from my long, fabulous hibernation. 

Here’s March & what I have of April so far…  Enj-j-j-joy, mein Kinder!

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EYE DENT DITTY 

Humor & wit degrade

                  into megalithic muscle

Getting a laugh through a cardboard tube

    Flexing semi-human senses into upgraded 

Animal parts.

I gotta say I miss smiling,

or gushing laughter,

or faces lit behind bulbous fishbowl eyes

      In public

  we take to hiding

under skins, furs, unsentimental hairdyes

from bonnet-free Easter paalz

(your chocolate rabbit in a cape, coping w/

          the fallout between 2 brutal dotards)

        We take to the veil

     We are not all Muslim

     or Madame Psychosis

But it finally comes down to this — 

If you have no face to gosh over

If you’re as close to an android w/ human eyes

Equality   =   achieved

0304:0300a

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VOICE ACTIVATED PERSONA POEM

               Our isness

              Our usness

                 Our bizness

               Our census

           In safe spaces

    In  soft spots      cum     fort zones

       Finger pricks or pads?

   Do scanners reach beneath

               furry pants

            or feathery robes?

     Lift our veils for clearance?

Real   (-istic)

           enough to fool mother nature

Synth     (-etic)

            enough to outlast 49 yrs of you (-th)

   -istic   -etic   -istic   -thetic   -istic   -eidetic

0304:0300a

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XO, Jesus

We finally take

      to hiding our turned cheeks & 

           we also start slapping each other

                                on the streets

                    for showing interest in the sky

For wardrobe malfunctions caused

                  by wind & rain

              We crucify whatever comes along

Skin contact finally mobil-

                                      izes eyes

      Compliance before the live human audience

               w/ the disembodied laugh

The one act play

                         Clapped for by the hand

                   that sawed the stage

0304:0325a

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RHETT ORACLE

                        There is discarded trash 

EVERYWHERE

                  Some of it has eyes,  or

                                      a few limbs left

or feelings & a phantom bluemeat smell 

                       We sit back while the women converge

on the water (their resource of choice)  We sit back & revel

                       in the air no one else can see

The oxygen needs explaining

Carbon dyes & cardboard cut-outs, Hollywood style,

                     disposable outcome

We make ourselves indispensable,

                       We die smothered in income,

                                  cryptic barcodes, priceless footprints

              (it’s there but only

           the magician/computer

                can see it;

             the fool/user

                  must entreat

             the careless entrails

               of technology

             for all things —

                                admittance

                                approval

                                affect(@)ion)

Time = Depression

When you have cubes of it instead of lines

You can’t pull meaning from floor to ceiling

                pull anti Gs on sero-blockers

Rocket fuels between raindrops

                or sweatstains between dance moves

Happy/loved babies

               grow to be abandoned/unabashed dancers!

Their bliss as big as my hurt when I 

                  found the porn stashed in the public library

All the smut by Grecian poets & Freud, 

                     all the things I knew unconsciously

Spelled out,

        to be believed & enacted

          in their centuries of print

You were very precious to the CIA, why’d

                                 they take their eyes away?

Mom: blue jacket & leaf blower

          duck in nearby pond

Dad:  getting out of car; jacket off

         looks angry, disappointed

They’re brought together as spirit,

                    shooter & victim(s)

Together as family aftertime, sharing a love

                for popcorn & tragedy,

plasma & comedy,

                but not the documentary

that made them stars

           

0315:0150p

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BELLES LETTRES

Mention the B-list actors

      in your laurel-wreath poetry

                & Hollywood burns

Mention the bee lust

           for flowers on your property

             & birdhouses break

Mention the Bielest

        of the holly-decked cockpits

             & laureates writhe

Mention the bluest

       of undressed Jessica Doe’s

              & rabbits blur

Mention the ballsiest

           of castrato crime bosses

                & dear god

0315:0150p

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ZEA/LANZA/ZAPATA/RAMSEY

Did Lambert work

             for the CIA?  Was it all an

                attack by libtarded anti-gun nuts?

Are you fucking nuts? To make that up out of

           thin air & bounce it off a tower?

It’s harder than you think to make a person disappear.

To make a family vanish. But to make a classroom

Explode?

They never showed the callas, 

                                      indigo,

                                    azaleas on the tube

And who would ever ask to see them?

Killers round up — autism boom — not just

                                                       chemical

                                                      intoxicant

                                                       airborne

But the effect of specific pitch shifts

On the delicate Y chromosome

                             indosome

                             atavasome

Warped nervous system for the sped-up future

One normal brother & then one messed up

            by the sound of silence

The undetectable scream

                             in the womb (all of America online

                                                                 for the 1st time)

Now there’s silent screaming warfare

                                  in enemy hotels  (aka hostiles)

You could cook an egg on my headache

                     but it would have altered carbons

                                                             indoles

                                                             aminos

Was Lambert a doctor?

No he just loved children.

0329:0525a

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AMERICAN POGROMS

Last time I looked I saw this father  — —

                arriving, removing his coat

                  ready to lambaste Lambert?

Nope. Big old YHweh crumples to the

                                         driveway

Why??

Why???

Magnets pulling     extra light

            dance partners

Across the floor (axis)

Impact on Y

   tides,

Now ebb/niep as a plot deepens

            into a trench

No electricity pulls

           a net of eels through

              the Medusa power grid

Two brothers, one normL

                       one brain got bathed in the brine mentioned above ^^^

Now father is as angry as YHweh

       This miracle that lies bleeding as it did

                         the day it was born —

How do we ever tell life & death apart?

Better parents. Elizabeth Warren (!!! < she’s got votes in the afterworld)

Helicoptera bulldozerus,

                            even as we evolve to kinder heights

            The poles show

    the fringes expanding like wicks

               soaking evil

Gender roles = improved but more 

                               confused than ever

      A dangerously flawed unfluid dynamic

         attempting to lube the stuck minds

                             of the rust belt

                            of the hawk farm

                        of the painted shut asylum

American pogroms

                I thought would’ve begun in ’01

Start with a march & rev into a run

         2020 foresight: Which social media platform will

                 new candidate legislate from?

 Govspace.com/Eaglecry  — — checks & checks

                   & balances & comments & likes 

0329:0550a

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MEMZOGRAM

My mom is obsessed w/ my memory —

What is the very first thing you remember?

Do you have any good memories of your father at all?

What was your favorite Xmas?

What do you remember about this or that house?

Is this just a mom thing?

Is your mom obsessed w/ your memories?

Leave answer in comments.

0404:time

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317 ST POETS BREATHE IN 4/4 TIME

….never 7/7 Venetian Snares time

Have you written your obituary

  In disenchanted pentameter?

I would pick the econo casket

            For your ninja mom

I don’t want to find her when we look in 40 years

    and the deluxe vault will keep her

           locked in her leathery body

              full of cheap, trinkety secrets

I will burn my ninja robot tiger mom

                     kindly, kindly

Break up

Break down               Wind up

                                  Wind down

Break wind

Windbreaker            Blowhole

                                Wholest

Of holies

Whistle blow        Stormy Darny’alls

               Sadness abides in ribcages.

RAGE lives in lower areas, abdominal, adrenal, lumbar regions

               Sing it out like a demon,

    not so much a neighbor as an evil spirit

                     getting exercise

It isn’t enough to manufacture

                        my own spontaneity  (< I had no idea how to spell that. weird!)

                Here comes entropy

The girl has fallen from the bridge so many x

     some x she lands like a cat on waterskis

     some x she skids on the slick algae in 

                        GAME OVER green

Most often she’s impaled on the ancient cypress shivs

                         below the surface

And once, last year, crowd-surfed like Jesus

                                   on worshipping plankton

0404:time

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AVEC SERIF

Hollywood Medium, darling

        millennial scribbling

    I believe your creeking hands

But can’t understand a word

                        you’re babbling!

4-4-19  (NON VOGON Insta poem)

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SANS SERIF

Dead authors are around you

While you read their books

My new neighbor is a pilot

This adds fuel to my nightmares

I read to my blood cells in their

               red reeds

And my blood is too red

           so the needles eat platelets

Of noodles, and bowls

          bow with bags of rubies

Stolen from my throat

Danaerys Targaeryen had blood in her brain

This adds dragons to my dreams

Dead authors love to read

       over your shoulders & into your

                       live-fed actions. Let them.

0404:time

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ANCIENT INCELS   (*ohh my!!)

You don’t know what it’s like

                                  to give up your man-life

Because a woman wouldn’t give up hers! [??]

She would rather shop, sing

Or suck or shoot,

Or even suicide

She blew up her uterus

                    like a golden balloon & said

         Here’s your sun!

Now I’m heading for shade, lemonade…

    The sidewalk’s reuptake

  in the continuity strain        More women should

                     abandon their children [??]  [angrrry,

but I kind of understand**]

0404:time

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SPYCHIATRIST

Spychiatrist doesn’t mistake scary 

                         for anything Hollywood

     No screaming queens,

                    no magic f/x

No neon plumage or medicated witches

             twitching in bed

Spychiatrist knows

        It’s a silent scary

A silence that lets you know

               You’re stepping on its tail

                   (which is an electric cable

                      chewed by angry grandmothers)

0405:0875p

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RAINMOWER

I’m the patron saint of those who can’t afford a lawyer!

For those who need to bury smelly secrets

post Stockholm, Earth syndrome

Mowed during thunder & mud,

releasing gas & bone

The 2 most celebrated poets of our (my) time (space)

Work for Moneylove Greeding Co

Rupi in birthdays & anniversaries

Buk in humor & sympathy

Doesn’t matter one’s dead & one’snot yet

They alone are qualified to transcribe the lint prints in

                                                7 billion belly buttons &

impart that lint to the masses

Rupi & Buk have orated from the live-eaten Instagrave

Let’s all go to our barstools & think about this

Bring Kleenex & your drug of choice

& crank the disco jukebox till 

                              you’re a double visionary

Keep an eye on the y-axis while you dance

      The floor has shifted in the past & we’ve

          ended up on lava floes upended

There’s really no wrong way to move

0405:0900p

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Ex-O.G.s  (Us)

Lift the cockroach’s left wing & see

      the treasure map tattooed

               in scarlet stipple

Lower the wing

      w/ your photo graphic

                            (genic)

                         memory

Make your way through

    the lovers quarrel of a

           war zone of a

            refugee crisis of a

               jeopardy question

0406:0300a

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I LoVE YoU, VILLANELLE

You’re the academic, theologic, masochistic

               maraschino-picked text-bush

Revelatory!

Quasimodern!

Mezzophrenic!

The pictures lie. The hole is full

         like America’s heart-stomach

Our central processing organ is

        full of stones

No longer ground w/out

      gizzard-gazing

O’ vision 

            come hear

                         the chorus for the peeps

Teletorture on mute,

                         o’ factory

0406:0325a

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AOC, LMNOP

XO,

      OSHO

ADHD    ACLU

   belles lettres!!!!!!!  Bent elbows

        Funeral for a finger nail

Your forehead is a phosphene chalkboard

          Gov’t poems 

                    just write theyselves (hey whose voice is that???)

                               pay for theyself

              take theyself to lunch & deduct a jacuzzi

                            from the third line of the subconscious

                                                     W2

We’re all obsessed with what we remember

This life has been the longest job interview

And I’m ready to start my eternal calling

Father Time has retired

Hey, let’s all be incompetent together! Let’s pick up each other’s slack!!

                     HEY,

How about knowing where you’re going?

How about blooming where you’re planted?

0406:0350a